How We Operate
by half-hearted heroine
Summary: Wilson visits House in Mayfield: angsty awkwardness ensues. House/Wilson friendship, almost slash if you squint. "How We Operate" is a song title by Gomez. One-shot musing of the season six premiere. p.s. I don't own "House MD"


**A/N: So, this is my first House fic, and I tried to keep people in character, but if you see something that doesn't work, let me know!**

He retched into the toilet again, even though he had eaten nothing in the past 24 hours. "God damn it," he mumbled, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Detox is a bitch."

He looked up, and Amber was smiling faintly at him.

"So are you," he responded.

She laughed. "That's nice. You have a filthy mouth, you know?"

House groaned. "Go away."

The fluorescent light in the bathroom was flickering, and it was only adding to his headache. Thankfully, Amber disappeared as quickly as she arrived. House hoped that the new drugs they'd given him were finally kicking in, but in the back of his mind, he doubted it.

"A little help in here?" he yelled.

He had stumbled in here without his cane, leaning heavily against the walls, and now he wistfully thought of it lying next to his bed.

The attending on duty, Jenny, quietly pushed the door open. "How you doing, honey?"

She was a sweet lady, House could acknowledge that, and she even looked like the soft, grandmotherly type. But she wouldn't bring him any Vicodin, and that would have made him love her forever.

"I'm fabulous," he said weakly. "I just love the view from this bathroom so much, I keep coming back for more. Did you finally break down and bring me drugs?"

"Yep. But not Vicodin, Greg, you know that," she said. "Do you want some help?"

He nodded, and she helped him stand shakily, and she slowly led him back to his bed. He fell back and groaned again, rubbing his leg.

"How's the Demerol going?" she asked, noting his discomfort.

"It's taking the edge off," he admitted. "But the nausea, dizziness, and hallucinations aren't really helping."

Jenny's face fell, but she picked up his chart from the bedside table and dutifully read it again. "So, the hallucinations are still there?"

"Still there."

"And the nightmares?"

House cringed. In his dream, Kutner and Amber had cornered him, both of them dripping in blood. He had woken up screaming.

"Yep."

She frowned slightly, noting that on his chart. "Well, I'll talk to the resident about switching you to a different medication, and I'll get you a nausea remedy before visiting hours."

"Visiting hours?"

Her smile returned again. "Did you forget? It's been 48 hours. You're allowed limited visitation now."

His stomach flipped, and he tried to ignore it, picking up his cane. "Who?"

"James Wilson."

House spun the cane slowly between his palms. The last time he had seen Wilson was when he was admitted. No, when Wilson dropped him off. Why wouldn't he follow him into the building? House had even paused for a moment outside the car, staring at him, waiting, but Wilson wouldn't make eye contact with him.

"He'll be here in fifteen minutes, okay, honey?" she said softly.

He nodded. Jenny rubbed his shoulder before walking out, leaving him alone.

Sort of alone.

"Wilson's visiting?" Amber asked, sitting on the end of his bed.

"I heard," House said tersely.

"That's weird," Kutner said, joining Amber. "I could have sworn Cuddy would have visited first."

"Ha ha, that means I win the bet!"

House put his pillow over his head. "Go. Away."

He wasn't sure if they actually left, or if he had just muffled them enough, but it was blissfully silent again for a few minutes.

"Greg, honey?"

He lifted the pillow up. "Honey" was growing on him, though he would rather show up for Clinic Duty buck-naked than admit it to anyone.

Jenny was leaning in the doorway of his room. "Dr. Wilson's here early. Are you ready to see him?"

House sighed and sat up. "Okay."

She left, and he scowled at Amber and Kutner.

"Fine, we'll leave. Jeez," she grumbled.

Kutner pouted over-exaggeratedly. "But I wanted to stay! This is going to be fun!"

"Go!" House flung his pillow at them, and they vanished.

He heard footsteps down the hall, and he nervously picked up his cane again. What was he supposed to say? Wilson stepped into the room cautiously, and House noticed that he was tugging at his collar nervously. Jenny smiled reassuredly at him before leaving them alone.

"You're here," House said. "I didn't know if you were going to show."

Wilson finally made eye contact with him. "Of course I'm here," he said, sounding wounded. "Why wouldn't I be?"

House shrugged. "I just thought—never mind. Um, how are things at the hospital? Did Cuddy replace me yet?" he joked.

Wilson snorted. "No, but Foreman's going through resumes. Your team is picking the next one with a dartboard," he said sarcastically.

"Ah, I've taught them well," House chuckled. "Do they have a case now?"

"No, Cuddy's got them doing clinic duty."

House started twirling his cane, and he looked Wilson up and down. "No shoes, no tie, no belt. I don't think I've ever seen you this casual outside of your apartment."

Wilson also looked down at his feet, clad only in socks. "I couldn't have any of that with me to—they wouldn't let me in with them. It was a security risk or something." He suddenly wouldn't meet his eyes again, and House stopped spinning the cane, resting his chin on the handle. Damn it. He didn't want to be here, and not even Wilson could distract him.

"You know," Wilson said quietly, "Cuddy's not actually going to replace you. I was kidding about your team and the dartboard thing. They miss you."

"Do they know where I am?"

"They keep asking where you've gone, but Cuddy thought you might not want them to know," Wilson said. "We said you were on an undefined leave, and we won't really go into it after that."

He nodded thoughtfully. Wilson sighed.

"Um, Cuddy's talking about changing the cafeteria charging system," Wilson commented randomly. "She wants us to use ID's to charge things, so the register won't get stolen out of anymore—"

"Wilson," House said tiredly. "You don't have to act like everything's fine."

They fell silent for a moment.

"Are they still here?" Wilson asked quietly.

"Not at the moment. But yes."

Wilson rubbed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," House said. "About both of them."

"So am I."

House took a deep breath. "Okay."

Wilson nodded warily. "Okay."

He stared at Wilson, who seemed transfixed by the floor tiles. He couldn't keep doing this. It looked like Wilson hadn't slept well in days, and House hated knowing that he was the cause. So, for his sake, he could act normally. He would act like everything was fine, if that's what Wilson needed to hear.

"So." House cleared his throat, the noise sounding oddly loud in the silent room. "This meal plan thing sounds terrible."

Wilson smiled, and House could tell that he was relieved to be on a trivial topic again. "I thought you'd hate it. I mean, you'll actually have to pay for your own food instead of me."

"Terrible. Tell Cuddy that I hate it."

"I will. Should I also make an inappropriate remark about her top while I'm there?"

"You know me so well, Jimmy."

**A/N: So I had trouble writing the main confrontation and transition bit, but if you have any constructive criticism (or whatever) let me know! Thanks for reading! :)**


End file.
